Survive (25 page)

“What’s that awful smell?” Sara asked.

“Hell if I know, but it really stinks!” John said, wrinkling his nose.

“Something about it’s familiar, but I can’t place it,” Sara said, walking close behind John.

They reached the doors. John pulled on one. It opened outward, creaking ominously. “This is the part of the movie where we turn around and go home,” John mumbled.

Sara pushed him forward with her hand on the small of his back.

The inside of the church looked just like any other church before Zed Day, as the Mason clan had taken to calling the rising of the undead. Actually encompassing several days, the name had still stuck among those at the compound. The only difference was the clutter. Piles of boxes, containers, gallon jugs, and other supplies lined each wall. Two rows of pews led up to a raised altar, separated in the middle by a wide aisle. On the altar, sat several unlit candles, an open bible resting among them. Behind the altar, hanging high, a huge cross was affixed to the wall, with a replica of Jesus in rags nailed to it.

A simple wooden door stood closed behind the altar, directly under the idol. John signaled to Sara, pointing at the door. They walked toward the altar, stepping over cans of peas and chicken noodle soup that had spilled from a cardboard box. When they were only a few feet away from the door, they began to hear music, a low, dreary sound of chanting and some kind of stringed instrument. John reached out and turned the rusty doorknob. The mechanism clicked loudly, causing John to wince. The music continued, however, so John pushed on the door. It swung open silently.

Just as he was about to walk through, John looked up at the cross above his head. It was only then that he noticed the figure on the cross was not a replica of Jesus, but an actual dead man, nailed through the wrists and ankles. Blood had dripped from his wounds and dried into crusty runnels on his flesh. A chunk of his side was missing in the same place a spear wound would have been on any other crucified Jesus.

Sara looked up and realized the same thing John had. She opened her mouth to scream, but John covered it with his hand. He looked Sara in the eye and whispered, “It’s not Jose. It’s not him. It’s not Jose.” He waited a moment until Sara nodded her head, blinking tears away. He took his hand away.

“I’m okay. Let’s move.”

The next room appeared to be part changing room, part office, for whatever priest had been the leader of the previous flock. A desk lay against one wall with a big leather chair in front of it. Blue robes hung from hangers in an open closet. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a single, solitary stained glass window let in the afternoon sun. Another rough wooden door stood at the back of the room, closed. The sounds of chanting and music were louder in here.

After quickly making sure no one else was in the office, they walked to the door in back. John nodded again to Sara. She smiled briefly back at him and raised her gun. John reached over and tried the doorknob. It wouldn’t budge.

“Locked,” he whispered.

They looked around the little office for a key to no avail. Finally, John walked up to the door, raised his right foot, and kicked. His heavy boot thudded into the door, nearly blowing it off its hinges. It clattered halfway down a set of stairs before it wedged solidly into the narrow staircase. A gap big enough for a man was still open beneath it, however. The music stopped suddenly.

Sara looked at John. “Subtle, big man.”

John smiled and moved into the stairway. Dim yellow light shone around the wedged door, but John reached into his pocket and pulled out his Streamlite, a small but powerful flashlight he carried with him everywhere. The bright beam cut through the shadowy darkness of the stairwell. Each stair was covered in dust, except for a path through the center which had been brushed clean from use.

Sara followed John as they walked down the stairs and ducked under the door. At the bottom of the stairs, another doorway stood, this one without a door. John reached the bottom first. He ducked low and stuck his head around the corner. He held up his hand, signaling to Sara to hold her position. After a few moments, he pulled his head back around and motioned Sara closer. Leaning close to her, he whispered directly into her ear. “It’s bad in there, baby. I think you should stay here and cover our exit.”

The pale look on John’s face seemed to have more of an effect on Sara than the harrowing trip to the church. She gulped air into her lungs as if she were a drowning fish. “Jose...is he...?”

“I don’t see him. I saw bodies on tables. And some kind of cage down at the end of the room, but it’s too dim in there to see much more than that. Stay here.”

“No, John. I have to do this. I have to know.” Sara bit her bottom lip until it bled. John considered arguing, but instead wiped her lip with his thumb, then gripped her shoulder in silent support and nodded once.

“Stay close behind me, then.”

John slipped quietly into the room, crouched low to present less of a target, a feat already made difficult by his large size. Sara followed behind, mimicking his approach. The doorway led to a large room running the full length of the church. Stacks of old furniture, boxes, barrels, and other bits of detritus littered the area. Among the debris, tables were laid out with plates, knives, forks, and cups. The plates were piled with red meat, glistening in the dim yellow light. In the center of each table, a body lay spread eagle. A human body. Each body lay in various states of butchery.

Sara let out a little squeak as her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she got her first sight of the tables. John kept moving forward, noticing movement in the big cage at the end. He motioned to Sara by pointing at the cage. They moved towards that end of the room, trying to avoid looking too closely at the bodies. Mercifully, the dim light hid most of the carnage.

As they got closer, they could tell that what they thought to be one large cage was actually several smaller ones connected to each other, like prison cells. Or dog kennels, John thought to himself. A bare yellow light bulb dangled by a cord from the ceiling, directly over the center cage. Underneath, in a pool of glowing yellow, lay Jose, tied and trussed like a Christmas goose. His mouth had been taped shut, and his clothes were torn and bloody. Blood dripped down one side of his body from a garish wound in his left arm.

As John stepped forward into the light, Jose’s eyes widened. He twisted his body around to get closer to the side of the cage near John. Sara came up behind John and looked down. As she realized who was in the cage, she reached for the barred door.

“Sara, wait!” John whispered, grabbing her arm. As he held her back, bright fluorescent lights flickered to life on the ceiling. Several people stood up from hiding places all throughout the room, pointing old rifles and other weapons at them. John saw at least one person that held nothing but a bloody cleaver in his hand.

John did a quick count as the light steadied. Fifteen. Six men, nine women. At least half were armed with guns. He twisted so his P90 was aimed at the nearest person. He saw Sara do the same out of the corner of his eye and smiled in approval. Good girl, he thought to himself even as he took stock of this new threat.

The old woman they’d met outside took that moment to walk through the door. She let out a high-pitched laugh as she walked to the center of the room. She pulled a rusty old revolver from a black sequined purse and pointed it at John.

“Now you can join your blasphemous friend in serving the flock.” Red spittle dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Several of the people in the room shouted “Amen!”

“Flock?” John asked, keeping his gun trained on the man closest to him. The man held a double barreled shotgun. John judged that to be the most dangerous weapon being pointed at them.

“Azrael’s flock, you heathen!”

“Who the fuck are you people?” Sara shouted angrily. John feared she was losing control of her temper.

The old woman turned to Sara. Her voice dropped an octave as she spoke. “My child, we are Azrael’s flock, saved by the Lord to serve the Angel of Death in his reclamation of this world.”

“What are you talking about?” Sara asked. Behind them, they heard movement in the other cages. John didn’t dare risk looking behind them to see what was going on, though.

“The good Lord sent his Angel of Death, the mighty Azrael, to take his world back from the heathens and the sinners, child. We serve His Angel, and He has given us His bounty to sustain us.” The old woman pointed to one of the tables. John saw that the body on the table, a woman, had had most of its legs removed down to the bone. Heaps of bloody meat were piled high on several plates. A butcher knife stood up from the dead woman’s chest. As he watched, the woman walked over to the table and picked up a chunk of meat. She brought it to her toothless mouth and bit into it. Blood ran down her chin as she gummed the meat. She giggled.

The man with the shotgun spoke up. “Should we put them in the cage with the meat, or convert them?”

“What do you mean, convert us? No one’s converting me!” Sara yelled. A dangerous tone had entered her voice, one John had never heard before.

The old woman spat the chunk of flesh onto the floor. She wiped the back of her hand across her chin, smearing the blood all over her face. “Those who don’t serve to feed the loyal flock become His undead servants, child.” She pointed to the cage on the far right, just beyond the one that held Jose.

John chanced a quick glance in that direction. A Zed stood in the cage, a chain wrapped around one ankle, anchored to the far wall. On the floor next to the Zed, a half eaten arm lay in a pool of blood.

“What the fuck...you sick fucking bastards!” John said, bringing his gaze back to the man with the shotgun.

“Oh my God...are you feeding that thing?” Sara asked.

“Of course we feed it, child. We feed it so it can serve mighty Azrael in converting sinners to do His work. Only when all have been converted will His work be done!”

“Amen! Praise the Lord!” Shotgun man shouted.

John looked at the old woman. “Why aren’t there any Zeds outside?”

“If you mean servants of Azrael, the hand of the Lord protects us and disguises us so the servants know we also serve Him.”

John shook his head, not knowing what to make of the woman. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but Sara beat him to it.

“Let us take my brother out of here, or I’ll kill you.” John let out a sigh and shook his head.

“Oh you’re not going anywhere, child, not until you have become one of His servants. And your brother there is going to be honored by feeding His flock. It has been decided by God, and can not be undone! Praise Azrael. Praise God!”

Sara squeezed the trigger of the P90 and held it as the little gun coughed in her hand repeatedly. The old woman’s head burst apart as no less than six 5.7mm steel cored bullets tore through her and struck the wall behind her. The woman’s body jerked and spun in circles.

The man with the shotgun fell half a second later as John shot him in the eye. Before he hit the floor, another man behind him met the same fate. John pointed at a third as Sara ducked behind a barrel. She pointed her gun at the other end of the room and sprayed it back and forth, raking the entire area with the deadly little slugs. John saw several people fall as the first shots rang back at them from the flock.

“Jose, get down!” Sara said through gritted teeth as she shot another follower in the leg, then the head. Bullets zinged past the pair as John dropped another zealot with two well placed shots to the chest. He flicked his selector to full auto and joined Sara in spraying fire at the flock. The return fire stopped almost immediately.

Sara pulled the now empty magazine from her weapon, dropped it on the floor, and drew another from her pocket. She slammed it into the magazine well on top of the weapon and shot a woman as she crawled across the floor toward the door. The woman stopped moving.

Only a handful of flock members were still conscious and moving, most having cowered behind wooden chairs or boxes. John took careful aim at the obstacles and fired his weapon. The steel cored bullets easily tore through the wooden obstacles and killed the men and women behind them.

In a matter of moments, the fight was over. John stood up and walked across the room. Moans came from behind a stack of crates. He pulled the crates over, causing them to crash across the floor. A gray haired old man cowered there.

“Mercy, grant me mercy, I have done the Lord’s will!” he begged.

John lowered his weapon. He started to turn when he noticed the bloody butcher knife stuck through the man’s belt. John turned back to the man and pulled the trigger twice. The gray haired old man slumped to the ground, dead.

John turned back to the cages. Sara had already opened the cage door that held Jose. She knelt down and pulled the tape from Jose’s mouth. The boy’s dry throat emitted what would have been a scream.

“Sara, get me out.” His terrified whisper was quickly followed by tears.

John reached the cell and handed his knife down to his wife. As she began slicing through the boy’s bonds, John shot the Zed in the head. As the creature fell to the ground, John noticed the priest’s collar around its neck.

Jose stood up, rubbing his raw wrists. He pointed to the cages on the other side of his. “You have to let them out too.”